Sub-Saints: Stilwater Takeover
by RhapsodyBlueVA
Summary: With every street gang, there's a sub-unit that works behind the scenes. For the Third Street Saints, their sub-unit is quite an interesting group of characters. Led by Shaundi's little brother Ben, the Sub-Saints are locked and loaded and ready to take over Stilwater!
1. Chapter 1: In the Beginning, Part 1

Welcome to my first Saints Row story. Inspired by the magnum opus that is AzzyG367's "Saints Row IV – My Version", I decided to write about my OCs' adventures.

With that being said, let us begin. Without further ado…

* * *

" **SUB-SAINTS: STILWATER TAKEOVER"**

 **CHAPTER 1: IN THE BEGINNING, PART 1**

 _Stilwater Juvenile Correctional Facility, a few years after the yacht explosion in SR1…_

I waited in my cell, alone and shivering due to the bitter cold of the air. I detested being in here.

Suddenly, I heard my door opening. I got off my bed to see a police officer opening up my cell door. I looked at him distastefully, and he could tell.

"Alright, buddy. No need for that face. You have a visitor," he told me.

My scorn settled as he escorted me out of my cell and down the hall to the visitor's booth. He set me down in an empty booth with a phone and a mailbox. I sat down, and there was my best friend Sam Joplin.

* * *

Description of Sam:

Voiced by Josh Keaton.

A skinny boy with white skin. He has a blonde "short parted right" hairstyle with a dark brown streak in it, and a small triangle-shaped soul patch beard on his chin.

He wears a white t-shirt underneath a jean vest and worn-out dark blue jeans. He had biker boots and wore black fingerless gloves.

He had a tattoo on his back that looked like a piston-and-cross wrenches.

* * *

Sam picked up the phone and he began talking to me.

"Hey, Benny. I got laid off of work early so I could see you," he explained.

"Good to know," I simply responded. I noticed Sam looking at me as if he knew something wasn't right in the air between us.

"I know being taken out of your home is one thing, but landing in juvie just for selling crack to the vice principal is something else. Believe me, Ben; I know you don't deserve to be locked up in here. But since we can't afford an appeal, I got you a slice of cake your mom told me to give you instead," he replied as he slid the delicious pastry through the mailbox and to my side of the booth.

Sam bid me goodbye and he walked out of the visiting room. I took the piece of cake back to my cell and as soon as I bit into it, I felt a hard metal rod as my teeth dug into the cake ravenously. Pulling it out, I realized it was a screwdriver.

I smiled; I knew Sam was my best friend, but I never thought he'd use the oldest trick in the book when it came to prison escape.

* * *

As soon as the guard finished night call and the lights were out in my block, I pulled the screwdriver from underneath my mattress and began fiddling with the screws on the cell window I had. Thankfully, I had been placed in a cell on ground level and thus made for an easier escape.

After removing the screws and pulling down the window, I began making my way out to freedom. I had climbed over the wall between the correctional facility and the outside world and was halfway down the street when I saw Sam's Sabretooth-brand motorcycle coming down the road.

The bike turned and drifted to a stop. Sam took off his helmet and smiled at me. I got on his bike and we sped off into the night.

* * *

We arrived at our hideout in the Red Light District (which was an apartment that Sam's aunt had owned before she was struck by a van), and began making ourselves more comfortable. Sam gave me some of his old clothes and I went into the bathroom to change.

I came out wearing a black tank-top and black gym shorts, along with some Jumps sneakers and some white hockey tape wrapped around my forearms and hands.

As I came out and sat on the couch, I cracked open a can of lemon-lime soda and saw Sam wiping his face over the kitchen sink.

"You know something, Sam? I never really thanked you for busting me out of that hellhole," I told him.

"It wasn't my idea; it was your mother's. She supplied the cake, I supplied the screwdriver. But thanks anyways," he replied as he plopped down on the couch and turned on the TV.

We flipped through several channels until we landed on the news. We saw that beautiful Channel 6 news reporter Jane Valderamma talking outside the courthouse.

"It is said by some to be the trial of the century. A notorious member of a gang once known as the "3rd Street Saints", Johnny Gat was arrested last year in an assassination attempt against then decorated police officer Troy Bradshaw," she spoke in that honey-coated voice that me and Sam lusted over.

I remembered hearing about the 3rd Street Saints and Johnny Gat a while back before I landed in juvie. They had managed to take out the Los Carnales, the Vice Kings and the Westside Rollerz before one of their top guns was killed in that yacht explosion along with Mayor Hughes. But I shook those thoughts out of my head as me and Sam kept watching.

"In the resulting trial, Gat was convicted of one count of attempted murder and a staggering 387 counts of 1st degree murder…promptly sending him off to Death Row at the Stilwater Penitentiary," she spoke.

Hearing this, I got off my ass and walked into Sam's bedroom. I looked under the bed and found a steel suitcase. Sam walked in and noticed me.

"Dude, what the hell are you doing?" he asked. I grabbed Sam's alarm clock and struck it against the lock that sealed the suitcase. After two more tries, I broke the lock and opened the suitcase. Inside was a gold-plated heavy pistol with several ammunition rounds. Sam tried to stop me, but I had it loaded and cocked before he got to me.

"Dude, you can't touch this! It's the only thing I have left of my dad!" he shouted at me. I grabbed the pistol from out of his hands and pointed it at the TV screen of Jane Valderamma.

"We're rescuing Johnny Gat, and you're coming with me," I told him. Sam scoffed at me and crossed his arms.

"Why? He's not worth my time or patience," he responded. I fired a shot into the ceiling, and Sam crouched out of fear.

"Because I said so. Now come on," I said to him. We both made our way outside and we looked around for a car to drive to the trial. We found a Bootlegger convertible that was parked outside and hijacked it. We then sped off, on a quest to do the impossible:

To rescue Johnny Gat.

* * *

 _A few minutes later, at the trial…_

We parked outside and we ran into the courthouse amidst the news reporters and cops. We found the courtroom where Gat was being held and we were about to open the door when two guards approached us.

"Sorry. This is a private trial. No one is allowed in," they spoke.

I responded by shooting him between the eyes at close-point range and knocked the other guy out. Sam kicked down the door and we both barged in. I pointed my gun at a police officer.

"Drop it," I ordered. He dropped his gun and Sam picked it up. I checked his body for the keys while Sam walked over to Gat and his lawyer. I could hear them talking:

* * *

 ***3** **RD** **PERSON POV***

Sam: "You Johnny Gat?"

Gat: "The one and only. Who the hell are you twerps?"

Sam: "We _twerps_ are the only chance you have of escaping death row, you dumbass!"

Lawyer: "OK, OK. Calm down. No need to be hostile-"

*CLICK CLICK* (Sam pulling the hammer down on his gun)

Sam: "Quiet, you. Wait a sec. Aren't you Legal Lee?"

Lee: "Yes. Why? Do you need a case?"

Sam: "No, I just heard about you on the radio ever since my dad died."

* * *

I finally found the keys and walked over to Gat. He looked very confused.

"So why are you rescuing me? Outside of anti-death penalty bullshit?", he asked us. I tossed Legal Lee the keys and pointed my revolver at him.

"Unlock the cuffs. NOW," I ordered him. And he did so as I gave Gat the gold-coated pistol. He examined it nicely.

"Nice. Where'd you get this?" he asked.

"Bought it from the auction of the old Price mansion," I lied. I didn't want to tell him that it was Sam's.

"Alright, then. So now what?" he questioned.

"Now we get the hell out of here," I replied.

"What about me?" Lee asked. I smiled at him.

"You're coming with us, bro. How'd you like to see how the other half does it?" I asked him. Lee smiled confusingly.

"Sure," he responded.

"OK, then. Let's go," I replied. And me, Sam, Gat and Lee all ran out of the courthouse. But no one could have prepared us for the assault that would soon follow…

* * *

 **Hope you guys enjoyed it. Leave a review and tell me what you think.**

 **\- RhapsodyBlueVA**


	2. Chapter 2: In the Beginning, Part 2

Here's Chapter 2! Hope you guys enjoy it.

* * *

 **CHAPTER 2: IN THE BEGINNING, PART 2**

Me, Sam, Gat and Lee had fled the courtroom leaving a couple of dead bodies in our wake. We saw a couple of police officers running at us and I shot them. I could hear helicopter rotors and police sirens outside; they must've sent the whole fucking precinct after us.

After shooting another guard down, I scavenged the pistol he had off and began wielding firing. As we made our way across the small hallway that briefly led into another courtroom, I shot at some other officers who noticed us from the lobby below.

As me, Sam, Gat and Lee made our way into the next courtroom, we saw something I'll never forget for as long as I live:

Judge Melmack (the judge at Gat's trial) wielding a FUCKING shotgun.

With a look in her eyes that could bring the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse to a stop in their tracks.

She just fired at us, and we had to take cover behind an attendee bench. I had to brace myself and hope to God she wouldn't kill me.

But all at once, I heard the shotgun blasts stop. Me and Sam looked over the bench to see Judge Melmack with a bullet in her forehead. And I looked over to see Legal Lee holding a goddamn revolver.

"Lee, what the fuck are you doing with a revolver?" I asked him.

"This is just my insurance policy," he answered nonchalantly.

After we looted the corpses for any ammo and cash they had, we ran through another hallway yet again and down some stairs till we got to the cafeteria.

Shots were fired, bodies kept crumpling to the floor, and not a single fuck was given throughout this endeavor. We entered the lobby and we finished clearing it out when the fucking SWAT team came through the front door. We shot them until we had no more clips left, and almost all of the guys were down for the count.

We gathered in the central atrium. I knew we wouldn't have enough time before they sent in the second wave, so we talked as fast as we could.

"Okay, so they're gonna come back with a second wave of those guys. Anyone got a car?", I asked the goup.

"My Reaper's parked out back. We can escape faster that way", Lee suggested.

"Wait a sec. Don't those go up to at 60 miles an hour? We'll never outrun them at that speed," Sam chimed in.

"What about the Bootlegger?," I suggested.

"Benny, the Bootlegger's outside the front of the courtroom and there's probably about a 1000 of those guys," Sam pointed out.

We all looked towards Gat, wanting to know his thoughts on the matter.

"What do you wanna do, Gat?", Sam asked him.

"We'll split up. Sam, you and Lee go out the back. Me and Benny, we'll go through the front. We'll meet up at my place," Gat suggested. Knowing this was probably the only plan where none of us died, we nodded.

Sam and Lee headed for the back, while Gat whipped out the shotgun he looted off Judge Melmack and kicked down the courthouse door. The SWAT guys began firing at us, and Gat was shrugging off the bullets like a fucking Terminator.

I followed behind and shot at some more officers who were following us. The pattern kept going until we got to the Bootlegger. We rode off and we were chased by SWAT vans and the whole fucking precinct.

"How are we gonna shake these guys?!" I called to Gat, looking for an answer as he drove and I continued firing.

He drove around and pulled up to a small drive-through of this automatic confessional called "Forgive and Forget." He inserted a $50 bill into the machine and pressed a button that said "Tier 5: Murdering."

I saw the police and SWAT vans drive by us as if nothing had happened. I looked at Gat and felt dumbstruck.

"HOW THE UTTER FUCK DID GOING HERE MAKE THOSE GUYS FORGET US?!" I screamed.

Gat remained calm and he took one of the pamphlets and gave it to me. I read it closely:

* * *

 **FORGIVE AND FORGET AUTOMATIC CONFESSIONS!**

 **REPENT FOR YOUR SINS FOR JUST $50!**

 **SELECT FROM ANY OF OUR TIERS:**

 **1\. JAYWALKING**

 **2\. STEALING**

 **3\. ROBBING**

 **4\. SHOOTING**

 **5\. FRAUD**

 **6\. ARSON**

 **7\. MURDERING**

* * *

I crumpled up the pamphlet and through it out the window, refusing to believe the probability of automatic confessions being able to wipe away a criminal record. We drove off and we arrived back at Gat's place. As we were waiting for Sam and Lee to show up, we started talking.

"Thanks for bustin' me out, kid. Eesh would've killed me if I got executed," Gat said with a smile. I was confused about who he was talking about.

"Who's Eesh?", I asked.

"Aisha. I call her 'Eesh' for short. It got a little tricky what with me on death row and her being on the DL after faking her own death but, you know, we found a way to make it work," he answered. While that cleared up one thing, it didn't clear up the other questions I had for him.

"How long were you in jail for anyways?", I inquired.

"Two years and 31 days," he answered rather quickly.

"Not like you were counting...", I snarkily responded.

"What, you think you could've served longer than me?", Gat quipped. I turned and looked at him angrily.

"I almost did. I got caught selling crack to the Vice Principal and got expelled. To add insult to injury, I got sentenced to juvie for 5 years and I had to miss my prom," I replied. Gat was taken aback.

"Geez," Gat simply responded.

Eventually, Sam showed up in Lee's Reaper, but with a surprising lack of Lee.

"Sam, where's Lee?" I asked concerningly. Sam got out of the car and began walking up to me.

"I killed him and ate his liver," he replied casually.

I was dumbfounded before Sam smiled and chuckled.

"Got you, didn't I, Ben? No; he actually asked me to take him back to his office, but he did say I could have his car," he smirked. I punched him in the arm.

"Well, since Lee won't be catching up anytime soon, let's head on inside," suggested Gat.

* * *

Gat had a nice place for someone of his notoriety. It was a two-story house with a walk-in kitchen, dining room, living room, two bathrooms, three bedrooms and a nice backdoor patio.

"Well, come on in. You guys want anything?", asked Gat.

"I'll take a Mountain Air, please," requested Sam.

"I'll just have some tap water," I added as I sat down on the sofa.

"Johnny, who's that downstairs?", called a voice from upstairs.

"Come to the living room and see," answered Gat as he came out of the kitchen with a can of Mountain Air and a glass of tap water in one hand, and a bottle of Malt Liquor in the other. He set down our drinks and slammed his hand on the lid of the bottle and opened it.

"Johnny, I don't care if you just got back from the court, you do not mess with my furni-"

We turned and saw her. Aisha was decked out in a tan business suit and had cut her hair. She definitely was a lot different than from her short-lived rap career about 2 years ago. She was surprised to see us.

"Johnny, who are these kids?", she asked worriedly.

"Eesh, this is Benny and Sam," replied Gat as he downed his bottle.

She walked over to us. We got up and she extended her hand for a shake. While Sam shook hands, I fist bumped her. I was never one for handshakes.

"Pleasure to meet you two," she said kindly.

"Can we get back to business, please?", requested Gat. We sat back down on the sofa as Aisha joined us.

"What's the rush?", asked Aisha.

"I've been cooped up on death row, and Ben here's been laid out in juvie," replied Gat.

"Speaking of death row", said Sam, "you owe us for helping you escape the death penalty, Gat."

"Oh, yeah? How so?", answered Gat.

I got up and set my tap water on the coffee table. I looked at Gat and said my words clearly as possible:

" _I want to rebuild the Third Street Saints; prove that you still have what it takes to show Stilwater who owns these streets._ "

* * *

 **Aren't cliffhangers grand? Leave a review and I'll post the next chapter soon!**

 **\- RhapsodyBlueVA**


	3. Chapter 3: In the Beginning, Part 3

Third chapter's up! Hope you guys enjoy!

* * *

 **CHAPTER 3: In the Beginning, Part 3**

 **Ben's POV:**

Johnny Gat looked at me like I was crazy. I had told him I wanted to rebuild the Third Street Saints so we could show Stilwater who's boss.

"Are you fuckin' serious?", asked Gat.

I grabbed him by the collar and looked deep into his eyes (which were still covered by those doofy sunglasses he wore.)

"I have never been more serious in my life, Gat. I want to bring back the Saints," I answered.

Aisha looked at me. She was concerned.

"Why would you want to reform the Saints? Ever since they disbanded, things have been going smooth for Stilwater. Well, outside of Johnny almost getting the death sentence, that is," she told me.

"You guys don't get it! I remember hearing about you guys on the streets; how you took down the Vice Kings, the Los Carnales, and the Westside Rollerz to try and lower the violence in the streets. Making Stilwater safe again was your job, and you did it so wondrously! What could have possibly happened to you that you had to retire?", I said so passionately. Gat set down his beer and got up, still keeping his gaze on me.

"You want to know what happened? Fine. After we cleared out the other gang members, our leader Julius made this rookie his right-hand man. Then after we saved Julius from being killed by this asshat of a police chief, Mayor Hughes asked the rookie to come and see him. Then the yacht they were on fucking exploded, and we never saw both of them again," he answered calmly, trying very hard not to go into a rage and flip the table.

"I heard about that," chimed in Sam. "It was a few days before my dad died in an accident at the construction site he was working for."

"Anyways, back to the story," continued Gat. "A few months after the yacht incident, the Saints went to pot. Julius went off the grid after hearing of the rookie's death, I had to quit because me and Aisha got engaged and I didn't want our kids to get involved, Dex…don't even get me started on that bitch…but the real kicker was Julius' first second-in-command, the guy who currently runs the Stilwater PD:

 _ **Troy fuckin' Bradshaw.**_ "

I was confused. Who was Dex? Who was this "Julius" that Gat resented? Who in the fiery pits of Hell was Troy Bradshaw?

"Who's Troy?", asked Sam nonchalantly. Saving me the punishment that was to follow this question was one of the things I'd have to thank him for.

Gat got up, threw his bottle against the wall, and grabbed Sam and held him in a headlock. Sam tried to break free, but Gat kept strengthening his grip. Sam's face was turning blue, and I had to do something. Thankfully, Aisha wrapped her arms around Gat and tried pulling him off from Sam. Gat did loosen up though and got up, leaving Sam gasping for air.

As he sat back on the couch, he looked at the wall where the shattered remains of the bottle lay and he put his head in the hands. Aisha put her hands on his shoulder and comforted him. As Sam got back up, he looked at Aisha in disbelief.

"WHAT THE FUCK DID I SAY? ALL I SAID WAS, 'WHO'S TROY?'", he screamed at her as he jumped over the couch and resumed his seat.

"It's a topic that Johnny's too sensitive about. He doesn't have to talk about it if he wants," explained Aisha calmly but firmly. Gat pushed her arms away and looked at her.

"No, Eesh. They have to know," he said. Aisha nodded understandingly, and got up.

"I'll be in the kitchen if you need me, honey," she assured him.

As she left for the kitchen, Gat gripped the table and was ready to flip it, but he let go and relaxed. He then looked at us, with a look in his eyes that seemed to resemble a strange combination of hurt, betrayal, rage and anger.

"Troy was Julius' first second-in-command, long before the rookie. He was in charge of helping us take out the other gangs who ruled this city. It was going great at first, but then, after the yacht incident, his true self was revealed…"

* * *

 _Stilwater, 2006, a few weeks after the yacht incident…_

" _The Third Street Saints were falling apart. Dex had run off and vanished without a trace, the rookie was dead, and Lin had drowned thanks to William Sharp getting involved. The other guys left one by one, until it was just Julius, me, and several of the guys. But Troy was nowhere to be found, and Julius had put out an APB for him._

 _Some of us had gotten together at Freckle Bitch's to hang out one day when we heard from one of our boys that Troy had been spotted in the suburbs near the old Price mansion, which had been turned into a bit of a hangout for the Saints after the Westside Rollerz were disbanded. So we got into our cars and decided to pay a little visit._

 _When we got there, Julius and Troy were duking it out on the driveway. Julius had a knife to Troy's throat, and he was screaming stuff like 'Why'd you betray us, Troy?!', 'You were like a brother to us, man!', and 'You sold us out, you fucker!' We pried the two away from each other and held them back. After we calmed things down, we asked Julius what was up with Troy._

 _He told us that Troy was actually an undercover cop and that he had been working for the precinct the whole fucking time. Troy said that he joined the Saints because he wanted to get rid of the gang violence, but it never occurred to us that we were part of the equation. I wanted to kill Troy right then and there, but Julius let him go, saying that the beating was punishment enough._

 _But I'll never forgive that fucker. He lied to us, he used us and betrayed us in the worst way a person could betray anyone: he was working for the police, and he kept it so well-hidden we didn't even know."_

* * *

 _Present day…_

"Flash forward to two years after that. The Saints had been disbanded, Julius had gone off the grid, me and Eesh got engaged, and Troy had been promoted to chief of police. Wanting to satisfy my lust for one more kill before I retired for good, I got a sniper rifle from one of my buddies in the SEALs and traveled to this gala they were hosting at the Marshall Winslow Recreation Center.

I waited on top of this house, and waited for what seemed like hours. The first few people to come out were some cops, a bunch of paparazzi and that Valderamma chick. And then out comes Troy.

Troy was looking so pompous with that fancy-ass cigarette in his one hand, that badge of honor in his other and that stupid fucking mustache on his face. I had him perfectly lined up on the shot, and then a fly buzzed by my ear and threw me off-course. I fired accidentally, and thankfully the shot hit no one. But since the whole precinct was there, they found me easily and before I knew it, I was in the back of a cruiser with handcuffs being taken to the holding cell.

I used my one phone call to tell Eesh what had happened, and they found out I had killed 387 people during my time with the Saints and that was supposedly enough for me to go straight to the chair. But then you two showed up and here I am," he finished up.

Now I knew why Gat resented Troy, and I wasn't going to hold it against him. He had every right to be pissed.

"Sorry we ever brought it up," I told him.

"It's fine," he replied. "I just needed to let it out due to the stress of the trial."

"Can we get back to business, please?", asked Sam. He didn't want to waste another minute talking about the past and wanted to focus on starting up the new and improved Third Street Saints.

"Yeah. Sure, Sam," answered Gat.

"OK. So first things first, what do we have to do to inform people that the Saints are coming back?" I asked.

"Well, we need to remind these people who we are," replied Gat.

Aisha had come back with a bowl of pomegranate slices and we dug in. It was tangy at first, but I got used to it as time went on.

"And this can't wait 'til after dinner?" she questioned us.

"No," we replied all at once. It surprised Sam, since it almost felt like we were a collective hivemind. But it didn't faze me a single second.

"So what's your guys' plan?", asked Gat. He wanted to hear our ideas, and we didn't know how to react. It felt jarring to say the least.

"We start up a crew, and once we got that, we take back this city and show Stilwater who's boss," I responded.

"Sounds good," replied Gat.

"And just where did you three plan on having this little meeting?", questioned Aisha.

It never really came up to us about that; we had planned on getting a crew together, but we never really thought about where our base of operations was going to be.

We looked at Aisha, then each other, then we looked around the house. Aisha must have had the reaction speed of a cheetah, because she was already shaking her head.

"No," she replied bluntly.

"Well, this place is pretty spacious," suggested Gat as he got up.

"No," Aisha replied again.

"The color's very soothing," added Sam as he finished ate another slice of pomegranate.

"No!", Aisha replied yet again. Gat turned and looked at her.

"Come on, Eesh," complained Gat.

"This ain't no fuckin' gang clubhouse, Johnny. And like you said, you don't want our kids to get involved in the gang," Aisha retorted. She had made a really good point.

She turned her back on Gat and crossed her arms. Gat looked at us and we could see disappointment in his eyes.

"Change of plans," he simply responded. Me and Sam got up from the couch.

"We gotta get a new place?", Sam asked.

"Yeah, you two got it. Come on; I know a place," said Gat as we walked out the door.

* * *

 **3** **RD** **PERSON POV:**

Ben, Sam and Gat left the house and got into the Bootlegger. Gat got out his phone and placed it on a phone stand on the dashboard. On it was a map with directions.

"Just head over to the old mission house; we should be able to set up shop there," directed Gat. Ben pressed on the pedal and they sped off into the night.

"Why can't we just set up shop at your previous base?", asked Sam.

"You mean the church? Ultor's renovated it and turned it into a tourist trap," responded Gat.

Ben and Sam had heard about Ultor a while ago; it was a mega-corporation that had branches in every line of retail from clothes and cell phones to weapons manufacturing and nuclear waste.

"Goddammit," answered Ben. He didn't like tourist traps all that much before he got sent to juvie, but now he had more reason to hate them.

"Sorry, guys. We gotta find a new place, and the mission house will be perfect," replied Gat as they drove into the major part of the city.

"Aren't religious buildings a 'been there, done that' kind of thing?", asked Sam. It was a very good question; it seemed to Ben that it was almost a bit of a cliché that street gangs would use religious buildings such as churches and mission houses as a front for their bases.

"We're not staying _in_ the mission, guys," chuckled Gat. At that moment, Ben and Sam sighed in relief. They wouldn't be going cliché with their new base.

"Now, check it out. Years ago, an earthquake dropped part of the city below sea level, and rather than clearing out the rubble, the city built over it. There's an abandoned hotel below the mission. That'll work for us," explained Gat.

"Alright, I'm down. But is there a catch?", asked Ben. He knew that with new bases, they'd have to fight to win them.

"We gotta evict the current tenants," answered Gat.

"Of course…", simply replied Sam. They drove over a bridge and through Bavogian Plaza until they got to the missions. After they got out, they went to the truck and got out their weapons: Ben had his two pistols and an SMG, Gat had an assault rifle, and Sam had a crowbar and shotgun. As soon as they loaded up, they headed for the door.

* * *

 **Ben's POV:**

We got up to the mission door and opened it up. Inside was a graffiti-covered missions church that was littered with cockroaches and smelled like 5-month-old sushi.

We looked around until Sam found the stairway down into the cellars of the mission. We walked downstairs and found ourselves walking through a decrepit hallway.

Eventually, we found the entrance to the hotel and we slipped quietly in. We hid amongst the shadows and I saw the outline of the hotel.

Although it was decrepit, it still had a decent bar, a firepit with some couches, and some guys in green walking around. I looked towards Gat.

" _Who are these fuckers, Gat?_ ", I whispered.

" _Must be the Sons of Samedi. I'll explain later, Benny,_ " he whispered back. We heard a cracking sound, and we turned to see Sam leaning back against the pillar by the stairs.

Gat reached out to grab him, but the pillar broke and Sam fell backwards onto the floor. The crash alerted the Samedi goons, and any chance we had for stealth kills was gone. We raced down the stairs and shot at the Samedi guys. Sam got up, dazed and confused, but eventually recovered and joined us.

"NO PRISONERS!", he screamed as he began thwacking the Sons of Samedi into the ground with the crowbar. Gat looked at me and I shrugged.

Suddenly, more of these guys came from out the door and we shot them down. We exited the hotel area and found ourselves in the catacombs of Old Stilwater.

As druggies and junkies cowered their heads and ran out, me, Sam and Gat were shooting down Samedis on the ground and up in the rafters. But then, from out of nowhere, a bum tackled me and held me on the ground. Sam noticed this and pulled the guy off me using his crowbar. He helped me up and we looked at Gat, who was finishing off the Samedis.

"Yo, Gat! There's bums down here as well! What should we do with 'em?", shouted Sam. It echoed through the catacombs.

"Clear them out! Leave no one alive, Sam!", answered Gat. Sam pulled out his double-barreled shotgun and pumped it. He raced into the direction of the bums and shouted his full name:

"SAMUELLLLLLLLLL JOPLIN!"

I followed behind, choosing not to shout my name. We saw several shacks littering the area, and bums were surrounding Sam.

"Benny! Help me! I'm being attacked by homeless veterans! Aaaaaaaaughhhh!", he said dramatically as the bums overwhelmed him.

I grabbed one of the bums and threw him into the shack, destroying it. When the bums saw the wreckage, they surrounded it and feebly tried to rebuild it.

A lightbulb appeared in my head, and I looked towards Sam.

"Sam! Shoot the shacks! That's the bums' weak point!", I said to him.

"Gladly," Sam smirked. He pumped the shotgun and shot at several shacks, bringing them down. I grabbed several of the bums and threw _them_ into the shacks.

The sound I heard was an odd mixture of wood and boxes being destroyed, bums muttering and screaming as they tried to kill me and Sam, and bullets entering their mangy, greasy bodies.

Eventually, we destroyed the shacks and Gat came over. He saw the bums trying to feebly reassemble the shacks and nodded to us. He loaded his assault rifle with the last of the magazines and I loaded my guns too.

"Clear the bums out, men! Whoever shoots the most gets 500 points!", shouted Sam as he whipped out his crowbar and ran at the bums yet again.

Me, Gat and Sam were just shooting up bums like we were old friends who hadn't seen each other since high school. Shots were fired, bums were falling, and not a single fuck was given through it all.

Eventually, the last bum came down and we looked at each other. We smiled, knowing we just cleared out a whole goddamn underground hotel.

We re-entered the main area and looked around. Gat shoved a junkie's corpse off one of the couches and sat down. Propping his feet up on a box, he looked at us as we examined the rafters above us.

"So, what you guys think?", he asked. Sam looked at him and shrugged.

"It's kind of a shithole, Gat," he replied. He sat down on the couch and joined him.

"True, but it's a shithole with potential," responded Gat. He put his hands behind his head and sighed contently. Sam scooched over and patted the remaining empty seat on the couch.

"I don't know, guys," I said. I wasn't sure about this place as our new crib. It was still riddled with dead bodies and such.

"Just think about it, Benny. A stripper pole, some flat screens…maybe some nicer furniture, who knows?", proposed Gat. I smiled and joined him and Sam on the couch. Propping my feet up on the couch, I looked at Gat and smiled.

"You had us at 'stripper pole', Gat," I smirked. As we watched the fire, Gat sighed again and stuck out his fist.

"Fuckin' A…," he sighed as I bumped his fist. We watched the fire well into the late hours of the night, at which point me and Sam got up, wished goodnight to Johnny, and returned to Sam's apartment for a long rest.

* * *

 **That was fun, wasn't it? Leave a review and tell me what you think!**

 **\- RhapsodyBlueVA**


	4. Chapter 4: In the Beginning, Part 4

OK, so…

I apologize for the long wait. Life got in the way, but here's the long-awaited Chapter 4 of the "Sub-Saints" saga, with some additional dialogue written by AzzyG367 (the writer who inspired this fanfiction's existence). Hope you enjoy!

* * *

 **CHAPTER 4: In the Beginning, Part 4**

 **Ben's POV:**

I woke up the next morning to the sound of fried eggs and bacon sizzling on a stove. As I got off the couch, I looked over and saw Sam in his boxer shorts cooking up breakfast. I got up and headed over to the kitchen and tapped Sam on the shoulder. He looked over and saw me.

"Hey, Benny. I'm just making us some grub before we help Gat clean up the new crib," he nodded.

"That's not what I'm concerned about. Why the fuck are you almost naked?", I asked him.

"This is how I go to sleep every night, man," replied Sam. "Grab a seat. Breakfast's almost finished."

I sat down on a recliner facing the kitchen and Sam laid out a tray of glasses of milk, a bowl of cereal, fried eggs, a croissant and several bacon strips. He dug into the fried eggs and some bacon strips, while I had the cereal and croissant. After we finished eating, we got dressed in our attire from the day before and we left the apartment.

Getting in the Bootlegger, we started driving out to the mission house. While getting there, Sam spoke to me.

"Can I ask _why_ you lied about my gun to Gat?", he asked me as we stopped at a red light. I looked at him.

"He wouldn't believe me if I said that a gold-plated heavy pistol belonged to some mechanic," I answered. Sam looked confused and then he nodded.

"OK, then. Seems reasonable," he replied as he pulled up into the parking lot. We got out and entered the mission, cringing due to the smell.

As we made our way down, we saw several rats and cockroaches. _As soon as we get the gang together, first thing we're doing is cleaning up this godforsaken rathole,_ I thought.

Eventually, we saw Gat in the main area starting to pick up dead bodies.

"'Bout time you guys showed up," he quipped snarkily. "Go ahead and start putting these corpses into piles."

We did this for a few hours, with nothing but the fire-pit burning in the center. As Gat laid down another corpse, Sam's nose wrinkled due to the smell of the corpses, despite the fact we killed them just last night.

"You know, Benny, this isn't what I had in mind for today," complained Sam. I scoffed and used a crowbar to drag them over to the piles.

"We gotta clean this place out, Sam," I told him. Sam crouched down and picked up another corpse.

"Hey, bro, I ain't a fuckin' janitor," replied Sam. He threw the corpse into another pile as he went over to the bar and started looking for anything to drink.

"No shit, Joplin. You're a goddamn diva," said Gat. I chuckled a little and fist-bumped him.

"But he is right, Johnny. This is the kinda shit people who just got canonized should have to do," I told him. Gat looked at me and from the look on his face, I could tell he didn't like my response.

"Well, then what do you suggest, Benny?", he asked me accusingly. I looked down at one of the corpses.

"We'll just ask some of the crew to help," I responded. I nudged one of the corpses' face with my foot. "Hey, buddy. Wanna help us?", I asked jokingly.

The corpse didn't respond (because he was fuckin' dead, obviously) and I looked back at Gat.

"Looks like we're doing this ourselves, Gat," I told him. I looked over to the bar and noticed Sam was digging around looking for something.

"Hey, Sam! Whatcha looking for?!" I shouted from across the way. Sam popped up and in his hands, he held some beer bottles.

"Looks like the Sons of Samedi were looking for a timeshare plan, since there's a mini-fridge filled with malt liquor," he replied. He cracked one open and started drinking. I looked towards Gat, who looked around the hotel now that it was cleared of any corpses.

"Like I was saying, Benny, we can't really run a gang if we don't have, ya know, A FUCKING GANG," Gat pointed out. I nodded as Sam walked over from the bar and joined me.

"You said it yourself, Gat. Most of the old crew are either dead, missing or busted by Troy; we're gonna need to start fresh," responded Sam. I shrugged as we made our way to the stairs. Gat followed close behind.

"Yeah well, let's get on with it. I'm done moppin' up blood," Gat told us.

Me and Sam made our way up the stairs and stopped halfway to face Gat.

"Since it's currently just the three of us, we're gonna need more people. What do you think, Johnny?" I asked him.

Gat whipped out his phone and started scrolling through his contacts list. "I met some guys in jail who might work; let me make some calls. Once I find out where these bitches at, you two are gonna have to show them that you're the real deal…they won't just follow anyone," he told us.

Sam smirked. "It won't be a problem," he replied. "We know several guys who'd be interested in joining." As me and him got to the top of the stairs, we looked back at Gat.

"Hey, guys. Before you go, what sort of crew are you lookin' for?", he asked us.

It took us a few moments to think about our answer, but eventually, we turned to Gat and told him.

"We want guys who want to make Stilwater safe again. The kind of guys who don't take shit from anyone, not even the police. We want the kind of guys who will shoot any member of our rivals on sight without hesitation," suggested Sam confidently.

"Anyone will do, Gat. Hispanics, blacks, Asians, whites; you name it. But remember: No. Fucking. Wannabes. We want the authentic shit, not some posers walking around thinking they're so tough," I added.

"Got it. I'll let you know who I find," replied Gat. The three of us made our way back to the surface level and left the missions. As Gat got into his car, me and Sam got into the Bootlegger and drove into the main area of Stilwater.

"Hey, Sam. I need you to drop me off at the high school," I told Sam.

"Why?" He asked.

"There's an old friend of mine who I know would love to be in the gang. Her name's Alyssa Serrano, and she has a knack for stealing car stereos and selling them on the black market," I explained.

"Oh, OK," he replied. We drove for a while until we got to the Sunnyvale Gardens High School. All of the students were outside having lunch, and I couldn't seem to find Alyssa anywhere.

"Drop me off, Sam. I'll find her soon," I told him.

"Got it, broski," he replied as he sped off to find some more members. I made my way through the crowd until I found her.

* * *

Description of Alyssa:

She had fair skin, a black Shoulder Length Parted Left haircut with purple highlights, and beautiful green eyes.

She wore a blue sweatshirt over a black sleeveless t-shirt that said "ANARCHY RULES", black cargo pants, dark brown heavy-duty combat boots, and black fishnet gloves with a silver wristwatch on her left hand.

* * *

I tapped her on the shoulder to get her attention, and she turned around to face me. Upon seeing me, her eyes lit up and she got up from her seat.

"Ben? Ben Campbell? Is that you?!", she asked.

"Damn right, it is," I responded. She grabbed me and hugged me tightly. I was taken aback briefly, but I warmed up to it and hugged her back.

"Christ, Ben. Juvie must have been horrible for you. But how did you get out?", she asked me.

"A friend of mine helped me bust out of there," I explained.

"Well, what are you doing back here? Last I checked, you were expelled for selling crack to the V.P.," she said.

"Me and a couple of my friends are forming a gang together, and I was wondering if maybe you'd be willing to join," I explained.

"No way, Benny. I don't want to get caught up in that lifestyle," she spoke worriedly. I could tell from the look in her eyes that she was reluctant.

"Come on, Alyssa. We need someone who can boost car stereos," I told her.

"I'm not sure, Benny. I mean, what if my parents found out?", she asked.

"Just tell them you're joining chess club," I suggested. Although she nodded, she turned pale upon seeing what was behind me. I turned around and almost suffered a heart attack upon seeing who it was: the Superintendent of the School Board.

"Mr. Campbell, do you mind explaining what you're doing on school grounds?", he asked sternly. I didn't know what to say; I was in total shock. I hadn't seen him in over 3 years ever since the trial.

But then, Alyssa took the initiative and slammed her lunch tray into his face, knocking him out cold. She grabbed me by the hand and we ran far from the school as we could. We stopped outside the Sloppy Seconds thrift shop and I looked at her, almost out of breath.

"Guess I owe you, huh?" I asked her. She looked at me and smiled.

"Probably later. How about this? I'll join your gang, Ben. Just make sure there's a place for car stereo thieves like me," she responded.

"Of course. We're gathering at this missions house in the Red-Light District; feel free to come by when you get the chance," I replied. As we went our separate ways, I felt a hint of success wash over me.

 _I wonder how Sam and Gat are doing_ , I thought to myself.

* * *

 **Sam's P.O.V.:**

After I had dropped Benny off at Sunnyvale Gardens High School, I traveled out to Rim Jobs, the mechanic shop where I worked at since my old man passed away.

As I entered, the smell of car oil and grease entered my nose and I sighed in relief, having forgotten the smell when I cleaned up the corpses. As I checked in, I entered the garage and saw several of my co-workers fixing up cars and giving them paint jobs.

I looked around the shop until I got to an Attrazione with a dark black paintjob. I banged on the hood, and from underneath rolled the man I was looking for.

Jett Katsaros.

* * *

Description of Jett:

He has pale skin, a dark brown spiked hairstyle, dark brown eyes, and a small chin strap beard.

At Rim Jobs, he wears a greyish-blue jumpsuit. Outside of work, he wears a green t-shirt, a black leather jacket, blue jeans, sneakers, and occasionally, he wore sports gloves just for the hell of it.

* * *

Jett looked up and smirked. It had been a while since we last saw each other.

"So, Joplin decided to come crawlin' back, huh?", he asked snarkily as he got up and shook my hand. "How've you been, Sam?"

"Fine, actually. You think we can talk?", I asked him. He wiped his face with a handkerchief as he looked at me.

"Sure, man. Just let me finish up this Attrazione; the guy who wanted it fixed is one of the top real estate brokers in the city," he replied as he got back on the creeper and rolled back underneath the Attrazione. Eventually, he finished up and the two of us went to the break room. He inserted some quarters into the vending machine and brought back some soda cans. He gave me one and we sat down on the couch.

"So, what are you doin' here, Sam? I thought you were laid off," he said to me.

"Me and a couple of friends are forming a crew so we can make Stilwater safe again," I explained. "And I was thinking that maybe you'd be wanting to join."

Jett shook his head as he took another drink from his can. "No can do, Sam. It's not that I don't want to get involved; it's just I can't risk having my family losing me," he replied as he got up to deposit his can.

"Come on, Jett. This could be your chance to get back at those Brotherhood bastards for killing your sister," I told him.

Jett stopped in his tracks and faced me. I could tell that I struck a nerve, as I saw the can crumple like a piece of paper in his fist.

"The fuck you say, Joplin?", he growled as he approached me menacingly. The can dropped out of his hand as he grabbed me by the collar of my shirt, pulled me off the couch and held me against the wall.

"I'm just saying that if you join this crew, you can avenge Gia by going after those dicks from the Brotherhood," I blurted, hoping that Jett wouldn't hurt me. As he raised a fist, I prepared myself for the pounding that would follow.

But strangely enough, I didn't feel his fist breaking my jaw. Instead, he let me go and went over to his storage locker. Grabbing his clothes bag, he went into the changing room and came back out decked in his casual attire, but this time, he was wearing a white plastic hockey mask.

"Let's ride," he snarled. We left the Rim Jobs, got into Jett's car, and we drove to the Ultor Dome, where several guys in red were tailgating. As Jett got out of the car, he went to the trunk, pulled out a duffel bag, laid it out on the ground, and pulled out a hockey stick and a metal softball bat. I got out of the car and grabbed my crowbar. We walked over towards them and Jett got their attention by banging his hockey stick against the pavement.

"HEY!", he shouted. The Brotherhood turned and saw us. Jett pointed his bat towards them intimidatingly.

"You guys like pain? Well, the doctor's here," he snarled menacingly as he raised his hockey stick and charged forward. He tripped one of the thugs and slammed the stick against the other, knocking him down. Several of the Brotherhood goons were getting their face pounded in, and I decided to help by tripping them using my crowbar.

As I slammed my crowbar into their faces, shattering their jaws, some more Brotherhood goons came rushing out of the Ultor Dome. They opened fire on us and the two of us took cover behind Jett's car. I began praying, hoping God would send me a miracle.

Thankfully, he did, because we heard some gunfire coming from across the street and saw a lone gunman wielding an SMG firing at the Brotherhood goons. The thugs were retreating, and the gunman was shouting at them.

"Yeah, that's right! Back up, fools! You fuckers think you own these streets? Well, guess what? I'm Pierce _**motherfucking**_ Washington, and don't you ever fuck with me, you monster-trucking, punk-rocking BITCHES!"

With this gunman firing at the Brotherhood near the Dome entrance, me and Jett got back into the action and we resumed tripping and beating in the closer members.

Eventually, those who weren't shot at or dead got in their cars and fled. The gunman, on the other hand, kept firing until he ran out of ammo. After he ran out of ammo, he instead threw the gun in the direction of the cars that were speeding away and shouted at them.

"Yeah. Run away, you little bitches, before I throw YOU in the mud."

We approached him and got his attention. Turning around to face us, the gunman looked confused.

"What's up?", he said in a tone that sounded casual mixed with nervousness.

"Who the hell are you, dude?", asked Jett from under his mask.

"Name's Pierce. I'm from Poseidon Alley," replied the gunman. Now that we knew his name, now all we had to do was convince him to join. But first, I wanted to know one thing.

"Why'd you come and help us, Pierce?", I asked. There didn't seem to be any real reason he'd want to help me and Jett fight the Brotherhood.

"Are you kidding me, man? The Brotherhood have had it out for me since they first showed up on the streets. You see, on the flip side, I'm an up-and-coming singer, and I sell mixtapes for a living," he explained. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a cassette tape marked "No. 25". I took it out of his hand and put it into my pocket.

"And earlier this week, I'm out on the street, selling my tapes, when suddenly one of these Brotherhood bastards showed up and began demanding money from the profits I made on selling these tapes. Apparently, it was a 'way of protecting my business from rivals', but I didn't believe that bullshit for a single second. And now, as I was walking back to my house, I see you and your friend confronting those bastards, and now here we are," he finished up. I smiled, knowing we had something in common.

"Now what about you guys? What have you got against the Brotherhood?", he asked us.

"They have a protection racket going against our shop, and thus we get less net pay than usual," I explained.

"OK, but what about him?", he inquired while he pointed towards Jett. I was nervous; Jett didn't like talking about his past much.

Jett exhaled and looked towards Pierce. "Those _fuckers_ killed my little sister," he growled as Pierce looked startled.

"Jesus…", muttered Pierce. Jett looked at him and pointed his bat towards him in a threatening matter.

"'Jesus'? 'Jesus' doesn't fucking do it justice, Pierce," he growled. "My sister never did anything to warrant them killing her. All she did was give me the lunch I had forgotten at home, and those bastards decided to shoot her in front of my own eyes, just for their sick amusement! I've made a vow, never to rest until I find the fucker who killed my sister and rip his eyes out!"

"OK, OK! Geez…", stammered Pierce, putting his hands up in self-defense.

"I think that's settled. Pierce, Jett; if you guys want to help make Stilwater safe again, meet me at the mission house in the Red-Light District. That's where we're recruiting," I explained.

"Got it, Sam," said Jett. He and Pierce nodded towards each other and we walked away. Jett drove back to the shop, Pierce went home, and I just walked around for a while, having felt success at recruiting another member for the new era of the Third Street Saints.

 _I wonder how Gat's doing_ , I thought as I continuing walking.

* * *

 **Gat's P.O.V.:**

After Ben and Sam left, I drove directly to the Tee'N'Ay strip club and entered. Inside, most of the girls were brand new, and they either had bigger tits, bigger asses or both since the girls from two years ago.

I scanned the girls, who were either wearing thongs or slutty schoolgirl outfits. In the left corner of the club, I found her.

Lana.

* * *

Description of Lana:

She had tanned white skin, a dark black bob haircut, beautiful blue eyes, and pink lipstick.

During work at Tee'N'Ay, she wore a white lace bra and panties with a rhinestone-buckled garter on her left thigh and black heels.

Outside of work, she wore glasses, a black red-striped hoodie with gloves sewn in, a crop top shirt, tan khakis, and red sneakers.

* * *

As she danced, I went over and grabbed a seat. Reaching into my wallet, I pulled out a $10 bill (Lana always had a strange fetish for $10 bills, maybe it was because 10 was her favorite number; I don't know) and gave it to her. After she grabbed it, we went to a private back room. As I sat down, she started teasing me by removing the garter and tossing it to me as a souvenir.

"Hey, Johnny. It's been a long time, hasn't it?", she purred as she ran her hand up her thigh.

"Hell yeah, it has, Lana," I replied as I stuffed the garter into my pocket.

"So what're you doing here? Last I checked, you were with Aisha," she purred as she removed her bra and shook those glorious E-cup babies in front of my face. I smiled; being in jail for two years had almost taken away that beautiful image.

"I am. It's just that me and a couple of friends have decided to bring back the Saints, and I was thinking maybe you'd want to join," I told her. She frowned and stopped shaking her tits in front of my face.

"Johnny, the Saints had a good run, and I don't want to get involved again," she said as she crossed her arms across her chest. "Besides, I'm only stripping part-time now. I'm getting my degree in technology, and I'm only doing this to help pay off my student loans."

"Come on, Lana," I complained as I got up. "I remember back when you and Samantha were part of the Saints. Anytime we paid a visit, both of you would give us lap dances free of charge. Maybe you _are_ a has-been."

"Hey! I've expanded my skills far beyond just stripping," she retorted as we walked out back to the main room.

"Oh, yeah? How so?", I asked her questioningly.

Lana pondered for a moment, and then she looked at me. "Watch this," she purred as she pulled up a chair for me next to the stage. She got back up on stage and started dancing for a business executive. As she got close, she rubbed her back up against him. As she moved one of his arms up to her neck, she used her other arm to reach into his pocket and take his wallet.

After blowing the executive a kiss, she walked back over to me, pulled out a $20 bill and waved it in my face.

"See? I've gotten better," she seductively cooed. _My God, did she sound so sexy when she talked like that_ , I thought to myself.

"OK, so you can rob execs of their money. So what?", I said. I still wasn't convinced she had expanded her skills.

"You would not believe the things I've taken, Johnny. Expensive watches, valuable rings, and anything else they bring in here, they never come back out," she replied. "And if you want me to join your new generation, then you have to do me a favor."

"Name it," I told her.

"This son of a bitch named Lamar keeps coming in every few days and acts like he owns us. To add insult to injury, he takes 10% of our earnings and spends it on private dances with another dancer," she explained. I understood what she was saying.

"And you want me to teach him a lesson?", I asked her.

"No," she snarkily quipped. "I want you to pop a cap in his ass."

A smile spread across my face. She knew what I liked. I reached inside my pocket and felt the cold steel of my Colt .45 brush against the warmth of my hand.

"Point me to him," I asked. She led me towards the V.I.P. section and a bouncer stopped us. He eyed me suspiciously, but Lana looked towards him seductively.

"Don't worry, Ricky. He's with me, honey," she crooned and blew him a kiss. Though he kept stone-faced, he moved to the side and let us through. As we walked down the hall and past rooms of tits and ass dancing for these college virgins, she brought me to a room that was a tad larger and had a bead curtain as opposed to the silk robes that the other rooms had. Lana stopped me and looked at me firmly.

"Before you go in there, Johnny, just know: you'll be doing all the girls a giant favor for teaching Lamar a lesson," she whispered before pulling the curtain aside.

I walked in and saw a blonde stripper shaking her tits at a black person in baggy clothing and a faux gold chain. I pulled out my pistol and walked towards him, pushing the girl aside.

"Hey, what the fuck, nigga?", he exclaimed as he got up, but when he saw my gun, he sat back down and put his hands up. I adjusted my glasses and eyed him questioningly.

"Are you Lamar?", I asked.

"Yes. Why?", he replied.

"The ladies of Tee'N'Ay send their regards," I replied coldly and held up my pistol. Before he could react, I emptied my clip into his stomach and watched as he fell to the ground, trying desperately to stop the bleeding.

As I left, the girls were running away and Ricky was approaching me. I grabbed him and threw him aside, and I went towards Lana, who had gotten redressed in her casual outfit.

"How'd it go?", she asked me. I smiled a little as I took out the pistol's clip and showed her how empty it was.

"He'll be digesting lead for a while," I answered. She smiled and hugged me. I hugged back, and we left the club.

Outside the club, I lit up a cigarette and offered it to Lana. She accepted and after taking a puff, she looked towards me.

"You know what? I think I'll join this next generation of yours, Johnny," she said.

"Thanks, Lana. We're meeting up at this old mission house, but I can drive you there if you want," I told her. She grinned and we got in my car. Turning the radio to "107.77 The Mix FM", we set off for the missions house.

* * *

 **3** **RD** **PERSON POV:**

Ben and Sam were at the missions house waiting for Gat to show up with his contact. Lots of recruits had shown up and were told to wait in the hotel area until Gat arrived (Jett, Pierce and Alyssa included).

"Gat should be here any minute," Ben muttered. Sam looked over at him.

"How long does it take for a guy to get recruits?" Sam quipped.

They leaned back against Sam's Bootlegger and crossed their arms. They remained like that for a while until a thought flew into Sam's head.

"Hey, Benny?", he asked.

"Yeah, man?", Ben answered.

"Do you think it's a good idea getting the Saints back together when we don't know a thing about how to run a gang?", he mused. Ben was struck silent for a few minutes. Sam was right; neither of them had any gang experience prior to this.

"We'll just have to make the best of it, I guess," Ben reasoned. Sam was still unsure about all of this.

Then, they saw Gat's car pull into the parking lot. After it stopped, Gat got out with a female woman in khakis and a black sweatshirt. Ben and Sam approached them.

"Yo, Gat. Who's this?", Ben inquired. He hadn't seen this woman before.

"This is Lana DiGregorio, a dancer at the Tee'N'Ay club," he replied. The woman held out her hand and they shook. She looked at the missions house and then to the two boys.

"So you two are the brains behind the next generation of the Third Street Saints?", she asked them. Sam shrugged his shoulders while Ben smiled awkwardly.

"I guess we are?", Ben replied nervously. Lana chuckled.

"What are we waiting for? Let's get this started," Gat suggested. That was something they all agreed on, and they went inside.

* * *

 _One walk through the catacombs later_ …

The four finally managed to reach the hotel area, where they saw several recruits circled around someone beating the shit out of a recruit. As they descended the stairs into the lobby, Sam got a closer look and saw that it was Jett doing the beating.

"Jett, what the hell is going on?", Sam broke in. Jett got up and looked towards Sam, grinning smugly from under his mask.

"What's it look like I'm doin', Joplin? I'm being canonized. Speaking of which…"

He turned around and sucker-punched an unsuspecting recruit. He fell to the ground, clutching his gut and Jett took the advantage. As he resumed pummeling, Ben looked towards Gat.

"Where'd you find these guys, man?" Ben inquired. Gat turned towards him, holding up his cellphone.

"Like I said, Benny. I made some calls," he replied. As Ben was about to turn around, Gat stopped him. "I almost forgot, Benny. When you've got some time, there's someone I want to ask you about."

Ben looked puzzled but regained his composure. "Sure, Gat," he quickly uttered as he looked over at Sam, who was talking with Pierce and having some of the Samedi's malt liquor.

"You know, Sam, this place could have a few touch-ups. Add a couple flat-screens there, some throw pillows here and this place would be a'ight," Pierce suggested.

Sam smirked devilishly. "Well, one thing's for sure, Pierce; we're definitely having a stripper pole up in this bitch," he chuckled as they clinked their bottles together.

Ben was starting to feel more relaxed when Jett went over to Gat. The guy had blood splattered all over his hockey mask and on his shirt.

"What do we now, man?", Jett asked him. Gat looked towards Ben, then to Jett again.

"We listen," Gat answered as he walked towards Ben. They went up the stairs to the statue of the angel and looked down at the recruits. Ben looked concerningly towards Gat.

"So what exactly am I doing, Gat?" Ben asked him. He stomped his foot two times, and the recruits looked up towards them. Gat turned towards Ben and smiled.

"Inspiring them," he said as he went back down the stairs and stood next to Sam and Lana.

Ben was dead-silent for a few minutes. He was facing a large group of gang recruits and Gat had told him to inspire them to join the Saints. Ben thought of what he could say to them, until one of the recruits shouted out.

"You gonna fuckin' speak or what?!"

That prompted Jett to punch him in the jaw, immediately knocking him to the ground. Jett looked towards Ben and gave him the thumbs up. After seeing this, he knew exactly what to say. He cleared his throat and faced the recruits.

"Alright, so here's the deal. My name's Ben Campbell, and I remember back when the Third Street Saints ruled the streets with the intent of making Stilwater safe for all. They were cold-blooded killers, but they had the best intentions. And their dream almost became a reality; that was, until Julius Little's second-in-command Troy Bradshaw was found to be an undercover cop working for the police. Most of the original Saints were arrested and thrown in prison, and we almost lost our most important member yesterday: Johnny Gat."

The recruits looked towards Gat, and he smirked.

"He was nearly executed for 387 murders and an assassination attempt on Troy's life when he became Chief of Stilwater Police. But it was due to my and Sam's efforts that he's here to help us lay the foundations for the next generation of the Saints. Now from what I know, three other gangs have taken up residence in Stilwater after the first Saints were arrested. We encountered the Sons of Samedi while trying to obtain this place from them, and Sam and Jett have had a few run-ins with the Brotherhood."

Jett growled from under his mask; the mention of the Brotherhood was enough to get his blood boiling.

"Now we don't know about this third gang yet, but I can assure you that by the time we're through with all three of them, they're gonna wish they never set foot in Stilwater."

The recruits cheered, and Sam, Jett and Gat raised their fists in support.

"So what do you guys think? You think it's time for the Saints to rise up from the ashes and reclaim their rightful place as the guardians of Stilwater?"

The recruits cheered even louder and Ben knew he had done it.

"That's what I like to hear," Gat whispered to Sam and Jett. As the recruits disbanded and went to other areas of the hotel lobby, Ben went outside to the ruins of Old Stilwater. As he took in the sights, he heard some bottles clinking as he turned to see Gat walking towards him. They smiled as they stood by each other, taking in the sights.

"I thought you'd be celebrating the rebirth of the Saints, Gat," I told him. He looked towards me.

"Nah, celebrating ain't really my thing, Benny. Maybe I'll celebrate when those other assholes are ten feet under. But look, man, I got a question for you," he replied. Ben looked towards him with interest.

"What's up?", he asked.

"I've been talkin' with some more potential recruits, but there's one in particular I wanted to run past you first," he explained. Ben nodded; the more Saints they got, the more chance they had to reclaim Stilwater.

"The more the merrier," Ben replied. "So what's his name?"

"HER name," Gat corrected. "And she calls herself _Shaundi_."

Almost instantly, the world around Ben came to a crashing halt. Inside, the name echoed throughout his subconscious and some unhappy memories flooded through his mind. But on the outside, he was frozen stiff and stared blankly at Gat, who was a little creeped out by this.

"Benny? You OK?", he asked before he snapped his fingers to regain his attention.

Ben was shaken out of his stupor and looked towards Gat, uneasy.

"Sorry, Gat. It's just…for a second there, I thought you mentioned Shaundi Campbell," Ben said, trying to change the topic.

"I take it you two have major history?", Gat inquired. Ben shook his head and began walking away from Gat.

"No, no, no, no, no… Gat, what the fuck made you think this was a good idea?!", Ben responded. Gat noticed Ben was upset about this 'Shaundi' person, but he had to convince him otherwise.

"Let's see: Girl has contacts in every district in the city. Contacts that can get us the dirt on any deals that those other gangs are making, giving us a huge advantage.

She can 'persuade' local cops to turn a blind eye for a day if needs be, and most importantly, she knows tons of drug dealers from all over, and she's real familiar with all that shit too from personal experience.

She'd give us a fuckin' HUGE advantage against those Samedi assholes, and we ain't turning that down. So go ahead; tell me it's still a bad idea," Gat said without breaking a sweat. Ben knew on the inside that with all those options, he was beaten. But his unfortunate memories with her got in the way. Ben groaned in frustration towards Gat and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Gat, you don't get it. It's…complicated between us," Ben explained feebly. Gat didn't buy it for a single second. Grabbing Ben by the collar, he glared at him.

"Oh, so because your negative ass has some complicated history with her, that means the Saints have to start out with LITERALLY nothing instead of having a huge advantage over any of those fools out there," he said sarcastically. He then dropped Ben to the ground and watched as he pulled himself back up.

"Pull you head outta your ass, Benny. No one will force her into anything. It'll all be HER choice, but that's just me," Gat finished up. Ben, knowing he had been defeated in this battle of wits, sighed reluctantly.

"OK, OK. Fine. She can join. Just…PLEASE keep her away from me?", he sighed. Gat frowned yet again.

"Yo, I'm not a fuckin' babysitter. YOU can keep her away from you. You dig? So now that I've got your fuckin' blessing, that brings me to my next question," Gat responded. Ben looked towards him, wondering what else he had to say.

"Which is?", Ben asked annoyed.

"We still need to make sure she's Saints material, so…who's gonna go out there and recruit her: me or you?", Gat asked. Ben didn't even need to think about his response.

"Um…You. I need to deal with something else," Ben said quickly before turning to leave. But Gat was quick to grab him and glare at him yet again.

"Look, man. You can't hide from her forever if you're both gonna join up! So either suck it up and get the shit between yous sorted out, or tell me which one of you ain't gonna be a part of the fuckin' Saints!", Gat growled. Ben managed to free himself and looked towards Gat.

"I'll think of something, Gat! Just…go recruit her 'cause I already did my part," Ben spoke. He then headed inside while Gat remained outside. Gat sighed, mainly because he didn't understand what Ben had against Shaundi. But an idea then popped into his head, and he smirked.

"Well, then. Let's see if you like it when I send her into the same room as you and lock the door…", he whispered before chuckling. He went back into the hotel and headed up the stairs to do as he was told.

He was off to find Shaundi Campbell.

* * *

 **Well, folks. That was the long-awaited Chapter 4. I hope you enjoyed it and Chapter 5 will be coming up soon. Please leave a review!**

 **\- RhapsodyBlueVA**


	5. Chapter 5: In the Beginning, Part 5

Fifth chapter's up! Hope you guys enjoy!

* * *

 **Chapter 5: In the Beginning, Part 5**

 **Gat's P.O.V.:**

 _Outside the missions house_ …

I got in my coveted Venom Classic and began driving back to the Suburbs only to make a stop next to a house on Quinbecca Avenue. A party was raging on inside, and a few people were outside experimenting with drugs. Among them was a girl with light skin and brown dreadlocks lighting up a bong.

Shaundi Campbell.

I got out of the car and walked over towards her. She noticed me and held out her bong, expecting me to take a smoke.

"You want some of this?", she offered. I took the bong, lit it up and inhaled. After handing it back, I looked at her.

"You Shaundi Campbell?", I asked. She looked interested and got up to face me.

"Who wants to know?", she fired back. I reached over to my left sleeve and rolled up to reveal the iconic fleur-de-lis that the Saints used as their logo since their inception.

"Name's Gat. Johnny Gat. I'm a member of the Third Street Saints, and we're looking for recruits," I explained. She looked interested in what I was saying.

"Listen, dude; if I'm gonna join you, I need to know if you can get some serious airtime with your car," she responded. I looked over to my car, and I didn't understand what she meant by 'airtime'.

"I'm sorry, but my baby's not exactly primetime material," I shrugged. Shaundi sighed annoyed and walked over to the car.

"No, you idiot. I meant I want you to take this thing over to the trailer park and do some jumps with it," she explained. Now that I understood better, we both got in and headed off towards the trailer park.

After a while, we got to the first jump. It was over a small waterhole with a ramshackle dock and tackle store flimsily floating next to it. I revved the engine and sped towards the ramp.

Jumping over the water and landing on the ground, I breathed heavily while Shaundi looked over smirking.

"Come on, you big baby. Two more and I'll join your club," she quipped. Seeing as the Saints needed her, I drove off to the next hill. Upon arriving, I revved the engine and sped through a half-buried silo and jumped. The car hit the ground hard, but not hard enough to activate the airbags. I looked towards Shaundi.

"The last jump leads to the highway. If you can stick the landing, I'll roll with you," she said. Having no other choice, I backed up, looked towards the ramp and sped towards it.

And then we jumped.

Everything felt as if it was in slow motion, and I gripped onto the steering wheel as hard as I could.

We landed on the highway and I swore the front bumper nearly broke off due to the impact. After catching my breath, I looked towards Shaundi who was offering me a cig.

"No thanks. I don't smoke," I responded.

"It's cool, it's cool," Shaundi responded. Putting the cig back in the cup holder, she looked towards me.

"What do you say we go meet the rest of the crew? Of course, you'll have to be canonized, but I think you'll like rolling with us," I offered. Shaundi considered it, then nodded.

"Good times. Let's go," she answered. We headed for the missions house, and Shaundi turned the radio to 95.4 KRhyme FM, which was playing a classic tune: Notorious B.I.G.'s "Big Poppa." I smirked and began whistling along.

We pulled up to a red light in the Downtown district, and I turned down the radio to talk to her.

"So, Shaundi, I've been meaning to ask you; do you know who Ben Campbell is?", I asked. She frowned and crossed her arms, looking a bit pissed.

"That twerp? Yeah, I know him. He's my foster brother," she answered. I was surprised; while I knew Benny had a so-called "complicated history" with Shaundi, he never mentioned he was Shaundi's foster brother.

"Oh, is he?", I quipped. Shaundi pinched the bridge of her nose and looked towards me.

"Yes. My parents found him and adopted him to make up for a miscarriage my mom had," she responded. While I was stunned at the mention of a miscarriage, I was more interested in her relation to Ben.

"Why are you bringing him up?", Shaundi asked. I looked towards her and as the light turned green, we turned onto the bridge to the Red-Light District.

"He may have had a hand in helping me avoid the death penalty," I replied. Shaundi looked towards me, relaxing her arms but still keeping her icy glare.

"Good for him," she scoffed and turned up the radio, which had now switched to the Ice Cube diss track "No Vaseline." Although it was obvious she didn't want to continue talking about Benny, I was still intent on figuring out their history.

Eventually, we pulled into the parking lot of the missions and we made our way down into the hotel area, where we saw Ben and Sam examining the broken statue that stood watch at the top of the stairs.

"Hey, guys! I'm back," I called. Ben and Sam looked up to see me, but when Ben looked over to see Shaundi, he quickly looked away and began retreating down the stairs and out to the ruins of Old Stilwater. Meanwhile, Sam walked up to us and extended his hand, which Shaundi shook.

"You must be Shaundi. Name's Sam Joplin," he said. Shaundi remained blank towards him, and then looked towards me angrily.

"What?", I asked.

"You didn't tell me Ben was a part of your gang!", she growled. She then walked down the stairs and grabbed a seat at the bar. Sam looked towards me with a confused look.

"What's going on between Ben and Shaundi? It seems like he doesn't want anything to do with her and she is acting likewise," Sam inquired. I looked towards him with a determination I hadn't felt in a long time.

"I don't know, Joplin. But I swear I'm gonna fuckin' find out," I told him. Sam nodded and headed up to the "office area" where Jett and a couple of Saints were gathered around a staticky TV showing a hockey game between the Stilwater Skeeters and the Detroit Red Wings.

"Fuckin' hell…", I sighed. Despite good recruits, the beginning of the Third Street Saints was starting to look rocky with sibling in-fighting. I began thinking about the one crucial thing that was missing: a leader.

 _If only that playa didn't die on the boat,_ I pondered.

* * *

 **3** **RD** **PERSON P.O.V.:**

 _Stilwater Penitentiary, a prison island not too far from the mainland…_

The Stilwater Penitentiary was for many a criminal, their home or a hotel where they would stay for years until their time was up. What added further to the isolation was that they were locked up on an island, with no means to escape.

In the medical ward, Dr. Andrews was busy making her rounds when she heard what sounded like a guttural moan coming from one of the patients. She looked over and saw the patient with bandages wrapped around his face lift up his arms and flail them around in confusion. Quickly rushing over, she plunged a syringe into his arm and sedated him. After he was subdued, she headed over towards the phone and called up the office.

"Get officers Jameson and Stevens down to the medbay as soon as they get on the island. Patient Zero has awoken," she requested. She then hung up.

 _In the jail gym…_

Carlos Mendoza stood off to one side of the gym. He watched all the stronger, tougher guys lift weights that a scrawny guy like him couldn't lift to save his life.

Carlos had been thrown into prison after he was caught illegally repossessing a Reaper that belonged to his client Ramon Gutierrez, alongside property damage for wrecking headstones in a graveyard to obtain said Reaper. As he leaned against the bars, he heard some inmates talking about a patient in the medbay who woke up after a 2-year coma.

"So what's so special about this fucker anyway?", asked a black inmate.

"He used to roll with the Third Street Saints and was almost blown to bits when Alderman Hughes' yacht blew up," said the leader.

"OK, but do we know what he looks like?", responded the inmate.

"Well, a few years ago, I saw him perform a drive-by on the Vice Kings, and I remember he had a black fleur-de-lis on his right hand," answered the leader. One of the tougher inmates walked over to the group and pounded his fists against the other.

"When he gets in here, I'm gonna make him my bitch," added another inmate. But the leader pushed him away and held a shiv to his throat.

"Watch it, Griffin," replied the leader as he stuffed the shiv in his pocket.

An idea sparked in Carlos' head and he approached the officer standing watch at the gym.

"Hey, Officer Sanchez. I'd like to use my one phone call," Carlos requested. The officer looked at him curiously.

"Why now, Carlos? Your sentence is almost up, so why not wait until you're out of here?" replied Sanchez. Carlos put his hands in his pockets and pulled out a scrap of paper that had some numbers scribbled on it.

"My brother Diego's been taking care of our _madre_ and he's probably wondering how I'm doing," he responded. After pondering this, Sanchez pulled out her cell phone and handed it to Carlos.

"Make it quick," she stated before resuming her post. Carlos took out the scrap, dialed the numbers and headed over to the side of the gym. He held the phone up to his ear and waited for it to answer.

* * *

 _The Saints' hideout…_

Gat had now joined Sam, Jett and the rest of the Saints in watching the Stingers v. Red Wings game. Right now, the Stingers were in the lead by 4 points and the Red Wings would need a miracle in order to win.

"Come on, baby! The hopes and dreams of every Stingers fan lies in this game!", shouted Jett.

Then, Gat's phone began buzzing and he looked at the caller ID only to see a number he did not recognize. He looked towards Sam.

"Hey, Sam? I gotta take this," Gat explained. Sam shrugged and kept his eyes focused on the screen.

"Whatever you gotta do, man," Sam replied. Gat went to the hallway between the catacombs and the office area and answered.

* * *

 **Gat:** Hello?

 **Carlos:** Are you Johnny Gat?

 **Gat:** Who the fuck is this?

 **Carlos:** A friend. I'm currently in Stilwater Penitentiary and I've got something to tell you.

 **Gat:** What?

 **Carlos:** So you know that silent playa who rolled with you in the Saints 2 years ago?

 **Gat:** What about him?

 **Carlos:** Turns out, he didn't die. He's been in a coma for 2 years and he woke up today.

 **Gat:** How can I be sure you're not fuckin' lying?

 **Carlos:** Well, I noticed when he came in here on a stretcher that he had a BLACK FLEUR-DE-LIS TATTOO on his right hand.

 **Gat:** …What's your name, kid?

 **Carlos:** Carlos Mendoza.

 **Gat:** Listen, Carlos. Here's what I need you to do: get in the medbay however you can, bust him out and get to the rooftop. Me and a couple of friends will be there in a chopper to provide yous a ticket off that rock.

 **Carlos:** Sounds good, but…

 **Gat:** But what?

 **Carlos:** What if the playa doesn't know I'm acting on your behalf?

 **Gat:** Simple. Remind him of the time we shot up the Vice Kings dressed in yellow, and he'll know.

 **Carlos:** Got it. When can I expect you?

 **Gat:** Midnight.

 **Carlos:** See you then.

 ***BEEP***

* * *

Gat couldn't believe it. The playa was alive and well, but he was locked up in the pen. He went back into the office area and tapped on Sam's shoulder.

"Sam, I need to borrow you and Ben for a couple minutes," Gat explained.

"Sure," Sam answered. He finished up his beer and went to get Ben, who was checking out the ruins.

"Hey, Ben. Gat needs us," Sam told him. Ben crossed his arms and looked towards Sam.

"If it's about Shaundi, I don't want to hear it," he retorted and turned away.

"Come on, dude. Just grow a pair and move it," Sam said as he grabbed Ben by the shoulder and headed inside. Once they got to the surface, they saw Gat waiting for them propped up against his car.

"What's up, Gat?", Sam inquired. He was curious as to why Gat wanted to see them.

"So, here's the deal. Like I mentioned, in the first incarnation of the Saints, we had a young upstart playa who didn't talk that much. He helped bring down the Westside Rollerz, the Vice Kings and the Carnales, and because of that, Julius made him his second-in-command. And like everyone else, we thought he died when the yacht he and the Alderman were on blew up.

But thanks to an insider, I've received word that the playa is not only alive, but he's locked up in the prison. So we're gonna pull off a heist and rescue him," Gat explained. Ben and Sam were surprised at this revelation, but they were also puzzled.

"So where do WE come in?", Ben interjected. Gat smirked at him.

"Well, like I said yesterday, I have some favors with a couple of friends in the Marines and I can call us in a chopper to fly us to the prison and pick up the playa," Gat explained.

"Alright, then. When do we do this?", asked Sam. Gat looked towards him and showed the two his watch, which currently read 4:04pm.

"Midnight tonight," Gat explained. As he got in his car, he looked towards them.

"Now go home and lie low for a bit. I'll pick you guys up around 11:00," Gat finished up. He drove off and left the two in the parking lot. They got into the Bootlegger and headed for Sam's apartment. After ordering Chinese takeout for dinner, they spent the rest of the day watching _Conan the Barbarian_.

* * *

 _Back on Stilwater Penitentiary…_

Carlos had returned the cell phone to Sanchez and was finally getting ready to help the Playa bust out. But all he needed to do was get into the medical ward.

He looked through the gym for ideas. _I could crush my leg with one of the weights_ , he thought. But then he remembered the gang of inmates, and that their leader had a shiv. _If I get shanked, then I'll be rushed to the ward in no time,_ he pondered. With no other choice, he headed over to where the gang was conversing.

"Yo, Trey!", Carlos called before socking him in the face. Trey fell to the floor and clutched his jaw, then got back up. As the inmates gathered, Trey pulled out his shiv and pointed it towards Carlos.

"You just made a big fucking mistake, boy," he venomously growled and he lunged forward. Carlos ducked out of the way and began pulling a rope-a-dope on him.

"Come on, Trey. What's the matter? Too soft to go up against a Mendoza?!", Carlos yelled as Trey rushed towards him again. Carlos moved to the side and watched as Trey unintentionally stabbed Griffin.

As Griffin fell to the floor clutching his side, Trey looked towards Carlos with a rage and rushed towards him as fast as he could. Before Carlos could react, Trey pushed him up against a wall and drove the shiv straight into his stomach.

Carlos gasped and looked at Trey, who grinned evilly. But then, Officer Sanchez's nightstick came down on Trey's head, and the inmate was out cold. Sanchez looked towards Carlos and pulled the shiv out as fast as she could.

"Don't worry, Carlos. You're gonna be fine…", she comforted him as he fell to the ground, drifting in and out of consciousness.

* * *

 _The medical ward…_

Dr. Andrews waited patiently for Officers Jameson and Stevens to come to the medical ward. She looked towards Patient Zero, who was breathing, but unmoving due to the effects of the sedative.

Then, the doors to the ward opened, and in stepped the officers.

"How's the patient, doc?", asked Jameson.

"Well, seeing as he's still breathing after being caught in a massive explosion, I'd say pretty good," replied Dr. Andrews.

"Coming through!"

The three turned their attention to an assistant and Officer Sanchez pushing a stretcher with Carlos on it, clutching his side.

"What happened?", asked Dr. Andrews.

"Shanking," replied Sanchez. She was showing legitimate concern for the inmate.

"Put him over on the next bed," Dr. Andrews replied. Sanchez helped Carlos onto the bed and the assistant began lessening his pain. Andrews looked towards the two officers.

"Sorry about that," she stated as she began making her way over to the patient's face.

"Has he said anything yet?", asked Jameson. Dr. Andrews reached over to the bandages.

"Not yet, but I'm about to take the bandages off…", she answered as she slowly removed the bandages one by one. Finally, she removed the last bandage and this was the face they saw.

* * *

 **Description of Patient Zero:**

Voiced by Troy Baker.

He has white skin, with some burn marks all over his torso and legs. His fleur-de-lis tattoo on his right hand has faded away. His eyes were still the hazel brown they were two years ago.

He has a brown Draped Over Shoulders haircut and a big beard and mustache, along with pointed, bushy eyebrows.

Most of his piercings were removed for the facial reconstruction, but a diamond earring remains on his left ear.

He wore a Stilwater Penitentiary orange jumpsuit with a white t-shirt and boxers underneath.

* * *

 **Patient Zero's P.O.V.:**

"Yes. That looks like it healed nicely," the doc said as she pulled up from my face. My eyes were still hazy from being in darkness for so long and I was getting used to the bright light.

"Be careful, doctor. Your patient's dangerous," an officer told her as she backed away.

I looked over to the two officers, one of whom was glaring at me angrily.

"You got anything you want to say to the judge, you better start thinking of it now," he snarled. The other officer looked towards him and motioned for the both of them to leave.

"You're wasting your time, Jameson. Let's get a hold of Troy," the white officer told him. As they left, I rested my head against the pillow and looked up at the ceiling.

I thought of how amazed Julius and the others would be when they found out I was alive, and how we would rule Stilwater! I thought of my homies Dex, Troy, Johnny and…and Lin.

 _Oh, Lin. I wish you were still here_ , I thought sadly. Lin had helped us attack the Rollerz, but then that bastard Sharp kidnapped her and threw the both of us in the trunk of Lin's car. He then shot us and pushed us into the river to drown. I got out and tried diving back down to get her, but my injury prevented me from diving down any further and I had to let her drown. I got my vengeance on Sharp and the Rollerz, sure; but it didn't make any difference. Lin was dead, and I couldn't save her.

As tears started welling up in my eyes, I heard someone "psst" at me. I looked around and then the curtain moved aside to reveal a scrawny Mexican kid with a purple beanie.

"Is it really you?", he asked. I opened my mouth to speak, but due to the sedative that bitch gave me, it hurt to open my jaw.

"Do I know you, kid?", I whispered. I didn't want to risk hurting my mouth, so all I could do was whisper.

"My name's Carlos, and I'm here to help get you out of here," he told me. I rested my head against the pillow, trying to make sense of all this. _I gotta be fuckin' dreaming_ , I thought.

"Sure you are. And I suppose you have a car waiting outside?", I groggily quipped. Carlos sighed and propped himself up to face me.

"No, but I know a way out," Carlos answered. Using all my willpower, I tried propping up my arms and lifted my back so I could face him.

"Then why are you still here?", I asked him. It didn't make sense; he could have escaped when he had the chance, but he never took it.

"Because I heard you were in here, and Gat wanted me to bust you out…", he responded. I put my head in my hands and sighed. _Now I really gotta be dreaming_ , I thought. _There's no way this kid knows Gat!_

"Oh, yeah? And how do I know you're not bullshitting me?", I asked. I needed to know if he was telling me the truth.

"Do you remember when you and Gat shot at some Vice Kings while dressed in yellow?", Carlos inquired. All of a sudden, my mind raced back.

* * *

 _Me and Gat were in a stolen Vice Kings car wearing some yellow hoodies and were shooting at some stores._

 _Although I didn't speak, I had the biggest smile on my face as Gat pulled up to a shop and I shot the window display._

 _Immediately, the store clerk took cover and the alarms went off. We drove off, happily shooting at more stores to slander the Vice Kings' reputation…_

* * *

I smiled nostalgically and I looked towards Carlos.

"Yeah, I do," I told him. I was convinced.

"OK, so listen to me. Getting out of this prison's a two-man job and we need to work together so we can get off this rock," Carlos explained. As feeling came back to my arms, I laid back on the bed and looked towards him.

"You expect me to trust you? I barely even know you," I told him, hoping he'd see sense.

"Come on, man. I got myself shanked so I could get a chance to talk with you. Doesn't that prove I'm loyal?", he complained. I just laid on the bed, processing what he said.

"Either that, or you're really fucking stupid," I told him as I felt my face. _Damn. I grew a beard_ , I thought.

"I'm just trying to help you," Carlos snapped. I looked towards him angrily, hoping to get my point across.

"You know what happened to me the last time I trusted someone? Almost blown to hell," I retorted as I stared up at the ceiling again.

"You need my help, amigo," Carlos said. I shot up and pointed my finger towards him.

"The hell I do. I've got the Saints; Julius will bust me out of here," I told him. Carlos just laid on the bed and stared up at the ceiling.

"Sure you do," he scoffed. I looked at him questioningly. _What does he mean by 'sure I do'?_ , I thought.

"What do you mean by that?", I asked him. But Carlos turned on his side and faced away from me.

"I'm not telling you," he responded.

"Come on, man," I begged. I needed to know.

"No," Carlos answered.

"Look, I'm sorry I snapped at you, OK?", I said desperately.

Carlos turned over to look towards me and he sighed. Propping himself up, he looked towards me.

"How long do you think you've been out for?", he asked me. I was stumped; it had been a while, and my mental clock wasn't exactly the best.

"I don't know… 2-3 months?", I guessed. As the feeling in my legs slowly came back, Carlos looked towards me and sighed.

"OK, man. I'll be honest with you: I know you think you're a badass, but you're in a prison on a fucking island off the coast of Stilwater. Without me, you'll be wandering around here for hours.

And even if you manage to hide from the guards that long, and if you actually figure out how to make it outside these walls, you're just gonna find out that you're stranded out here. And I highly doubt you'll be able to outswim the coast guard in your current condition," he explained.

I took the time to consider what he said. Even if I did make it outside, I wouldn't have anywhere to go. And with the sedative slowly wearing off, I felt my legs regain feeling but it wouldn't have been enough to swim all the way to shore.

"So what do you have in mind?", I asked him. Carlos pointed towards the ceiling, and I looked up.

"Gat said he and a couple of friends would pick us up off the roof in a chopper at midnight, so we could probably wait up on the roof until they get here," he suggested. Seeing as how there wasn't any other choice, I got up off the bed and tried walking for a bit. Carlos followed suit, got off his bed and pointed out the other doctor in the room.

Winding his fist back, I ran up and knocked the fucker out cold. After he fell to the floor, I looked towards Carlos, who was standing by the back door. We left the ward and entered a room where two female guards stood at post. They saw us and ran towards us with nightsticks out.

Me and Carlos knocked them both out and we grabbed their nightsticks. I saw Carlos run underneath the stairs and I followed him into some sort of narrow passage. As we climbed up and slinked past pipes and ventilation, Carlos called towards me.

"So what you gonna do when you get out of here, man?", he asked.

"Let's not get shot first, then I'll figure it out," I responded.

We eventually got up onto the roof and a guard noticed us. He pulled out his pistol, but I was quick to knock him out. As I grabbed his pistol, me and Carlos sat down against a ventilation machine. I looked towards Carlos.

"Now what?", I asked him. Carlos looked at me puzzled.

"We wait for Gat, I suppose," he responded.

And so we sat there, waiting for Gat to come pick me up and get me off this rock…

* * *

 **Gat's P.O.V.:**

 _Gat's house, 11:30pm_

After one of my Marine buddies called me up and told me the chopper was at the airport, I kissed Aisha goodnight, got in my car and drove off to collect Ben and Sam. I remembered Sam mentioning they were living at his apartment in the Red-Light District and that it wasn't far off from the missions house.

Pulling up to the apartment, I went up to the front door and knocked. After a few minutes, the door opened to reveal Sam in a bathrobe and jeans. Ben was on the couch with a bowl of popcorn watching some movie.

"Gat? What're you doing here?", Sam asked me. I held up my key ring to his face.

"It's almost midnight. Get dressed; we're taking off in a few minutes," I told him. Sam closed the door, and I could hear some clothes rustling, a crate opening, shell casings spilling over the floor, and a gun cocking.

A few minutes later, Sam was redressed in his usual outfit wielding a shotgun, and Ben followed behind him with two SMGs. We got in my car and began driving to the airport.

Eventually, we arrived and after getting clearance from the tarmac officers, we drove up to one of the hangars, where we saw the beautiful demon.

It was an Oppressor helicopter painted in jet black with a yellow stripe on its side. But the inside was the best part: 2 seats for a pilot and passenger, and a bench seat facing with a built-in weapons crate.

"Holy shit…", whispered a stunned Sam. I smirked as a flight attendant came up to me.

"Are you Johnny Gat?", he asked. I nodded and the attendant gave me the keys to the chopper.

"Happy flying," he said as he went away. Ben and Sam had already clamored inside, so I got into the pilot seat and gave them headsets.

"Why do we need these?", Ben asked.

"To make it easier for you to hear me over the sounds of the rotors," I answered. I turned the ignition and we began hovering off the air. After turning around, we flew out of the hangar and headed for the prison.

As we flew over Stilwater University, Sam shouted through his headset.

"So once we get to the prison, we just pick up this friend of yours?", Sam cried out.

"Listen up, guys: it's not gonna be a simple pick-up. We're gonna face heavy resistance from land, sea and air, which is why I have a weapons crate full of RPG launchers in the back. Use those to shoot down the enemy, and we'll be golden," I explained.

Sam opened up the crate and pulled out a launcher. As he loaded it up, I looked forward and saw the prison. The onboard radio buzzed with static, and I grabbed the microphone.

"Incoming helicopter, identify yourself," said the voice.

"We're dropping off a couple of prisoners," I replied back. After a few minutes of silence, the voice came back.

"You're clear for landing, I guess," the voice spoke. We flew over and landed on the helipad. As two officers approached, Sam quickly opened the doors and fired at all three of them. Two were killed, while one was badly injured.

"Alright, let's go find him," I said as we left the chopper and began wandering around the rooftops trying to find him.

* * *

 **Patient Zero's P.O.V.:**

Me and Carlos had spent the rest of the day up on the roof hiding from the guards. We had fallen asleep around 9:30pm and were abruptly awoken by the sound of helicopter rotors and gunshots. I got up and loaded my pistol, readying myself for any guards.

Carlos woke up and noticed me. "Hey, man. What's going on?", he murmured sleepily. I shushed him and quietly handed him a nightstick.

"Be quiet. I think someone's here," I told him. I got to a corner and waited anxiously. As I heard footsteps come closer, I couldn't risk letting them capture me.

I jumped out of the corner and held my pistol up to the source of the footsteps…which turned out to be none other than Johnny and two other guys.

"Woah, woah, woah, woah!", shouted the white guy holding up his hands. I noticed he had dropped his shotgun. Johnny on the other hand had that same shit-eating grin on his face as he lowered his gun and bro-hugged me.

"'Bout time your burnt ass woke up, man," he grinned. He noticed my different appearance.

"Did you do something with your hair?", he asked me. I shrugged, but then I noticed Carlos stretching his arms and walking towards us.

"Oh, yeah, I almost forgot. Johnny, this is Carlos," I told him.

"I know him," he said. He then looked at the two guys behind him and motioned for them to come over.

"Bro, these two are Ben Campbell and Sam Joplin. They helped bring back the Saints while you were out," he explained. I was confused; what did he mean 'they brought back the Saints'?

"What do you mean they brought the Saints back? Where's Julius? Or Dex?", I asked him. Johnny wasn't making sense.

"You have a lot to catch up on, man," said Ben.

"We'll tell you once we get back to the crib," Gat finished up. "Now come on; you've got a ride to catch." Gat handed me a rifle and we all headed towards the chopper. But then, a spotlight shone on us and a guard noticed us.

"Hey!"

"Oh, shit!", shouted Sam. The guard activated the alarm and in the distance, sirens were blaring.

"Get to the chopper!", shouted Johnny. We ran through a chain-link gate and Johnny hopped in the chopper and turned on the ignition. Cops started showing up with guns, and me, Ben, Sam and Carlos were fighting back.

As Ben, Carlos and Sam got onto the chopper, I kept firing at the cops as much as I could. As soon as I ran out of ammo, I threw my rifle at the cops and ran for the chopper, which was hovering a few feet away from the helipad.

I jumped off the helipad and grabbed the skid. The helicopter swerved around for a bit, but regained stability as Carlos helped me climb onboard.

"Let's get out of here!", Johnny shouted as we flew off. I strapped myself in and watched as police choppers and boats began chasing after us. Sam looked towards Carlos and handed him an RPG launcher.

"Hey, buddy. You ever fired a rocket launcher?", Sam asked him.

"Not really," Carlos called back. Sam showed him the trigger and aimed it for demonstration.

"Just hold it on your shoulder, aim and fire," Sam explained. Carlos took the RPG and aimed it at a police boat, then fired. The boat blew up and sunk to the depths of the lake.

"WOOHOO! DID YOU SEE THAT?!", Carlos happily shouted. Sam high-fived him and grabbed an AR-40 Xtnd rifle to fire at some choppers.

Eventually, the choppers and boats dispersed as we flew over the city and landed on a building. After the rotors stopped, everyone got out and we all high-fived each other.

"YEAH!", shouted Sam.

"I CAN'T BELIEVE WE PULLED IT OFF!", shouted Ben.

"WOO!", exclaimed Carlos.

As Ben, Sam and Carlos kept celebrating, I went over to Johnny to speak with him.

"So listen, bro. I know you've been out for two years, so here's what's happened," he told me.

So for the next few minutes, Johnny got me up to speed on what had been going on ever since I was blown up: how the Saints fell apart after the yacht incident, how Troy had been outed as an informant for the Stilwater P.D., how Julius went off the grid, how Ben had been locked up in juvie, and how he, Johnny and Sam got the Saints up-and-running again.

"And that's what's been going on," he finished up. I had to take some time to process all this, but then I noticed several giant skyscrapers lighting up the night sky.

"What's that?", I asked him.

"That's what happened when Ultor came to town. They tore down the Row and rebuilt it into the first steps to making Stilwater gang-free," Sam mentioned as he, Ben and Carlos came over.

"After Hughes was killed in that bombing of yours, Ultor picked up the pieces," Ben added.

"They're everywhere in this town; billboards, TV, stores… Hell, if you ever forget who Ultor is, just look towards that fuckin' eyesore," Sam finished.

I looked towards Gat, knowing what my next objective was.

"Where can I find the new Saints?", I asked him. Gat pointed down.

"They're down in a hotel located underneath the missions house. But you're NOT gonna meet them like that," Gat told me. I looked down at my outfit and remembered my beard.

"You're right," I said. I looked over at Ben, Sam and Carlos.

"You guys; stay here until me and Gat come back. Hopefully, I'll be a different man by then," I told them. Me and Gat then came down to ground level, got in a car and drove off to get on the steps to rehabilitate myself…

* * *

 **3** **RD** **PERSON P.O.V.:**

 _A few hours later…_

Ben, Sam and Carlos were all waiting outside the missions house listening to some rock music on "89.0 Generation X". Carlos came over to Sam with a wondering look on his face.

"Sam, I've been thinking. Do I need to get canonized if I join the Saints?", Carlos asked. Sam just put his hand on his shoulder and smiled.

"Dude, you helped bust our potential leader out of prison! That more than earns you a place in the gang," Sam comforted him. Carlos smiled, then looked as Gat pulled into the parking lot. As he got out, the Playa looked a lot different than when he woke up.

He was now wearing a white long-sleeved shirt, a black and purple football jersey with the Saints logo on the back, blue denim cargo shorts with a silver-buckled belt, leather wrist cuffs, some rings, and a pair of sneakers.

He had also shaved most of his beard and now sported a small goatee with a trimmed mustache. His hair was still the same, but it now looked clean and healthy.

"You clean up nice," Carlos smirked. The Playa just smiled, and with that, everyone went inside to let the Saints know they had a leader.

 _One walk through the catacombs later…_

The group entered the hotel area and Gat gathered the other Saints to face the stairway.

"OK, listen up. Earlier tonight, I got a call from a friend saying that one of my closest friends in the first incarnation of the Saints was locked up in prison. With the aid of Ben and Sam, I was able to bust him out. So give it up for our Boss!", Gat spoke.

Light applause was gathered as Ben and the Playa gathered at the top of the steps. The Playa cleared his throat and looked towards the recruits.

"Alright, everybody. Listen up, 'cause we got some serious shit to discuss. The Saints used to own Stilwater, and it seems like the only motherfuckers that remember that are me, Gat and Ben here," the Playa spoke. He held up Ben's arm and the Saints cheered at the mention of Ben's name (except Shaundi of course).

"Because I don't know how we're gonna deal with these gangs, I'm gonna let Ben handle it," the Playa finished up as he went over to join Johnny. Ben cleared his throat and faced the Saints.

"OK, so here's the deal, guys; a lot of shit's changed since our boss has been out of the game, so naturally, he's gonna need some help," Ben said. He faced towards Pierce, Jett, Sam, Carlos and Shaundi and gave them their jobs.

"Pierce, you're on the Ronin. I wanna know who's calling the shots, and what businesses they're running," I told him.

"Done," Pierce simply replied. Ben faced towards Sam, Jett and Carlos.

"Sam, you, Jett and Carlos got the Brotherhood," Ben ordered. Jett cracked his knuckles and Sam held up a wrench.

"On it, broski," Sam replied as Jett growled underneath his mask.

"And...", Ben sighed before facing Shaundi. "Shaundi, you have the Sons of Samedi."

"It's gotta be them?", Shaundi asked. Gat looked at her and frowned angrily.

"The fuck you say?", he snapped. Shaundi held up her hands in defense.

"It's fine…I…I got this," she nervously corrected herself. Gat looked towards Ben and nodded stern-faced. The Playa rejoined Ben and faced the Saints one last time.

"Once we're done here, you talk to one of these guys. They'll have something for you to do," he explained. He raised his fist and spoke again.

"IT'S OUR TIME NOW! LET'S GET THIS SHIT STARTED!", he finished up as the recruits cheered so loud that the hotel nearly shook. As everyone dispersed, the Playa and Gat approached Ben.

"So listen, Benny. Seeing as how the Playa's gonna run things, I figured you could lead a sub-division of the gang," Gat said. Ben was confused.

"What does that even mean?", Ben questioned.

"It basically means you'll lead a group of people that will do most of the dirty work for the Saints, like taking over neighborhoods and dealing with the enemy gangs," the Playa explained. Though it began making sense, Ben still didn't know why he was being offered this.

"Why me, though?", Ben asked. Gat smiled.

"Simple: you've proven yourself worthy to lead a sub-unit for the Saints time and time again," Gat finished up.

Ben considered this, then he faced the two of them and shook their hands.

"You got yourselves a deal," he smirked. Gat looked at him and pointed out the numerous Saints.

"Alright, Benny; now all that's left is for you to choose who will be a part of your sub-unit," Gat explained. Ben already knew who he was getting for his group.

"I choose Sam, Jett and Lana to start off with, and I'll see where we go from there," Ben told him. Gat got up and went to inform the members. The Playa (or the Boss, as he had become) went downstairs to the firepit and sat on a couch. Ben stood up there, still amazed at what had happened to him.

 _Hell yeah,_ he thought as he smiled and went downstairs to join the rest of the Saints.

* * *

 **And that was Part 5! Coming up next is the last chapter in the "In the Beginning" storyline, and it will focus on the secret "Revelation" mission involving Julius Little. Leave a review and tell me what you think!**

 **\- RhapsodyBlueVA**


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